


Liberosis

by Dramione84



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Scandal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dramione84/pseuds/Dramione84
Summary: Liberosis is one of the obscure sorrows.  It is defined as the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life.  Something has left Pansy feeling broken leaving Draco powerless to help her.  With the media thinking their perfect pureblooded match is on the rocks, can their marriage survive the scandal? And more importantly, how will Pansy react when Draco confesses his true feelings?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written for Quills and Parchment Scandal One Shot Competition 2016. With thanks to the wonderful K_Lynne317 for beta duties :) Thanks to everyone who voted for this story, earning it 2nd place in the Angst Category.

 

Signing his name across the final parchment, Draco handed the stack to his assistant before leaning back in his ornately carved high back chair, raking his meticulously manicured fingers down his pale face.  He let out a heavy sigh before pushing his chair back, grimacing at the noise of the legs dragging across the hardwood floor of his study.  He glanced at the clock as his fingers curled around the doorknob; it was a quarter past six in the evening.  

Taking the Grand Stairs two at a time, he jogged up to the West Wing of Malfoy Manor, striding through the maze of hallways until he reached his suite of apartments.  As a child he had only occupied two rooms; a bedroom and a nursery.  Now he was a married man, he occupied no less than ten rooms including a private study and sitting room.  

Pushing open the door, he crossed the threshold into the suite, searching for his wife.  Scowling at the open French windows, he made his way over to them, pushing back the billowing voile panels as he prepared himself mentally for what was sure to be a frustrating exchange.  Anxiety crept up his spine, his ever stoic mask shielding the concern he felt for her.  Despite the chill of the Autumn wind, Pansy was sat on the balcony in nothing more than a large jumper she had thrown over her head, a cigarette between her delicate fingers, her hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head.  

Her eyes drifted to her right, aware of his presence beside her, lacking emotion and failing to meet his own.  Draco watched the glow of her cigarette intensify as she took a drag before flicking the ash into a crystal ashtray that sat perched on her lap.

“I have asked you not to smoke,” he told her, his tone controlled as he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice.  He hated it when she smoked, knowing she chose to smoke over eating.

“And?” she replied, her voice quiet and lacking emotion.  She knew he didn’t like it, but it helped calm her anxiety and she felt unable to bring herself to care about his reasons for disliking it.  Vaguely she was aware of the fact that she felt unable to bring herself to care much about anything of late.

Draco’s scowl deepened, the muscles in his forehead tightening as a migraine threatened.  

“This cannot go on.  Have you made an appointment with the healer yet?”

Silence.

“Of course not.  We have guests tonight.  Do you think you could come downstairs and entertain them?” he asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, watching as she exhaled the smoke through her nose without answering.  

Carding his hands through his hair, he crossed back into the bedroom, pausing to look at the photographs on the dresser, his eyes immediately focusing on the central photograph of Pansy in the rose garden.  It was a simple photograph, and one that he had taken in the first year of their marriage.  A soft smile ghosted his lips as he looked at the image of her twirling.  He didn’t know why but of all the pictures of her, this was his favorite.  His eyes drifted over to the French windows and he wondered not for the first time what it would take to bring her back from the abyss, of which her mind was clearly on the precipice.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Daphne crossed the room, elegant gown flowing, lips pouting as she air kissed Draco in greeting.

“Darling, how is she?” Daphne asked quietly, turning to scan the faces of the guests, careful to ensure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation.  Beside her, Draco’s grip on his tumbler increased as he raised his glass to his lips, relishing the burn of the firewhiskey as the amber liquid hit the back of his throat.

“That bad?” Daphne continued, her sidelong gaze darting to Draco, concern marring her features.

Silence.

He was sick of this and hated himself for acknowledging that fact.  He loved his wife but he hated seeing her declining mental state.  In the beginning he had tried to talk to her; to coax her out of her melancholy.  He tried bringing her roses from the garden, knowing how much she loved them, but they seemed to wilt right alongside her and so he had stopped.   Pansy was unable to verbalise how she was feeling or why and this left Draco feeling helpless.  He hated walking into his suite and finding her lying in bed staring at nothing, her empty eyes void of all emotion, or sitting on the balcony smoking, her demeanour brooding.

People looked up at them as a power-couple; a political alliance of the Malfoy and Parkinson families.  In the beginning that was his main motivation. With his mother dead and his father locked away in Azkaban, he was at least expected to uphold something of the pureblood traditions.  As such he had made the match for the sake of appearances, but it helped that he and Pansy had been best friends for years and held affection for one another. Over time he had grown to love her and it pained him to witness the self destruction wrought by her fragile and fractured psyche; a self destruction that left him feeling powerless.  

Pureblood society wasn’t what it had been prior to the war; the prejudices were still there, but it was considered a faux pas to vocalise them. Thus pureblood society had clung on to its rituals that acted as buoys in a sea of disquiet in the wider wizarding society.   Draco was trying to rebuild his reputation and raise the Malfoy name above where currently it sat.  As part of this he had donated to many important causes, and contributed to the rebuilding of the Ministry and Hogwarts.   All pureblood society required of Pansy was to provide Draco with an heir and act the dutiful wife when it came to key social events.  It was noticeable that she was conspicuously absent from all ribbon cutting events and this did not help his efforts one iota.  An absent wife meant an unhappy wife and a wife that was likely having an affair.  This amounted to a scandal amongst pureblood families who spent their time smiling to Draco’s face and gossiping about him behind his back, tarnishing both their reputations.

 

“Has she called the healer yet?” Daphne pressed, taking a glass of champagne from a charmed tray as it floated past them.

“No,” Draco replied stiffly, draining his glass before striding off towards the bar.

“Well that went well.”

Daphne turned at the sound of Theo’s drawling voice which startled her as he stepped out from the shadows, pressing her open palm to her chest theatrically.

“Merlin, Theo! Will you stop skulking in dark corners.”

“How much longer do you think he will put up with her before he files for divorce?” Theo asked, ignoring his wife’s dramatics.

“Don’t be absurd,” Daphne retorted, turning up her nose slightly. 

“Blaise and I have a wager on it.  I don’t think he will last another six months.”

“He loves Pansy.”

Theo snorted.

“A divorce would be scandalous.”

“There you are,” Theo chuckled, placing a finger on his nose and pointing at her as she frowned.  “What on earth are you doing?” she hissed, smacking his finger down.

“Pointing out how right you are about scandal.  Do you think he could survive the hit?”

“Must you two gossip about me every time my back is turned?” Draco muttered, returning from the bar, double firewhiskey in hand.

Daphne flushed slightly before opening her clutch and pressing an embossed business card into Draco’s free hand.

“Call my therapist.  He is discreet,” Daphne whispered, holding his gaze until he nodded.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Draco paced inside his private study, his polished shoes visibly wearing one section of the plush cream carpet thin.  At the sound of the door that adjoined his bedroom clicking softly open, he turned to face the Healer.

“Well?” he asked, his eyebrow quirked as he watched the Healer gesture to the wingback chair.  

“May I?”

Draco nodded his consent, the middle aged man settling into the chair before opening his notes.  He looked up from his position in the chair momentarily, and seeing that Draco was choosing to remain standing he cleared his throat.

“Your wife is suffering from a form of melancholy.”

“So depression then,” Draco clarified, rolling his eyes.  He could have told the Healer that.  Was it really worth his exorbitant fee to obtain a diagnosis of that which he already knew?

“Not exactly.  Melancholia is a marker for Major Depressive Disorder, but your wife doesn’t currently meet the full diagnostic criteria,” the Healer explained.

Draco perched on his desk, his eyes fixing on the Healer.  “So what are you saying?”

“Your wife needs treatment before it progresses to MDD.  Her most marked symptom is Liberosis.”

“Which is?” Draco drawled, his patience starting to wear as thin as the carpet.

“Liberosis is one of the obscure sorrows.  It is defined as  the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life.”

Draco furrowed his brow in thought.  “And that’s a sorrow is it? Surely everyone wants to feel that way about life?”

“With all emotions Mr. Malfoy, there is a level that is healthy and a level that is unhealthy.  Loosening one’s grip on life can be liberating...or it can be catastrophic.  For your wife, it’s potentially catastrophic.  She has a marked lack of interest in participating in adult life.  She has not regressed to a child-like state, but she has, how some Muggles say, decided to ‘stop adulting’.  Both her clinical presentation and your subjective case history reporting clearly demonstrate this.  She shows no interest in day to day life or her role as your partner.”

Draco snorted; again he failed to see what he was gaining by being told something he already knew.

“So what now? What do you recommend?” he asked, his tone almost challenging. 

Reaching for his briefcase, the Healer pulled out a worn book and started flipping through the pages.  

“It really is up to you Mr. Malfoy.  There are several options open to you depending on your viewpoint.” The Healer looked up from the book pointedly, having chosen his words carefully.

“Go on,” Draco instructed, his eyes narrow as he nervously tapped a finger against his leg.

The Healer let out a small sigh.  “As I am sure you are aware, there has been an increase in reporting of psychological disorders since the War.  This in turn has lead to more research and more treatments.  But we have to admit that our potions are not as advanced as some Muggle treatments and therapies,” he explained, his eyes remaining fixed on Draco’s, refusing to be intimidated by his stare.  “If you wish to only use potions, your wife’s recovery may not be, shall we say, as satisfactory as you might hope.  If however, you are willing to try Muggle therapies, then we could restore your wife’s psychological state more effectively.”

Draco nodded slowly.  “So when you say therapies, I presume you mean plural?” he drawled.

“If you are worried about the cost…”

Draco lifted his hand, cutting the Healer off with a smirk.  “Money is clearly no issue here.  What I am concerned about, first and foremost, is my wife. What kind of interventions are you suggesting for her?”

“A combination of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors such as citalopram and atypical antipsychotics such as abilify, and meeting twice a week with a therapist with whom my practice works.  She is a squib and has a practice in Muggle London, not far from the Leaky Cauldron.”  

Signalling his approval with a curt nod, Draco waited patiently for the Healer to write the prescription and fish out the business card of his colleague, before walking him to the floo.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

MALFOY MARRIAGE ON ROCKS. 

IS DIVORCE THE NEXT STEP?

COUPLE SEEN AT MARRIAGE COUNSELLOR IN MUGGLE LONDON.

Full story on page two by Lavender Brown.

 

Draco growled as he resisted the urge to throw the morning edition of ‘ _ The Prophet _ ’ into the fire, instead stalking to the floo, the green flames swallowing him before spitting him out like chewed up meat into Theo Nott’s office.

“Have you seen this?” he yelled, throwing the newspaper onto Theo’s desk.

“No, and hello to you too,” Theo drawled sarcastically as he leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing out across his features.

“Read it,” Draco ground out, baring his teeth.

Theo grabbed the newspaper, opening it out.  “Front page again?” He chuckled, finding a humour in this which Draco failed to grasp.  Eyes scanning the article, he tutted.

“Typical ill-informed fodder for the masses.  Are you honestly surprised?” he replied nonchalantly as he tossed the paper back to Draco.

“Meanwhile my reputation is in the proverbial water closet, and my share prices dropped fifteen percent after this story broke,” Draco complained, dropping heavily into the chair across from Theo.

“So what do you expect me to do, exactly?”

Draco glared at Theo.  “What I fucking pay you for, to start with.  You are my solicitor and my public relations manager.  You are supposed to handle any hint of scandal, not watch it splash across the front pages of ‘ _ The Prophet’ _ ,” he yelled, his patience snapping as his temper reached critical mass.  “Your wife said this Healer was discreet.”

“And he is, but that is you and Pansy I see walking into an office of a marriage counsellor,” Theo retorted, watching amusedly as Draco dropped his head into his hands tugging at his blond locks.

“We weren’t at the counsellor’s office; her office was next door.”

“Next door?” Theo repeated casually.

“Next door to the psychotherapist,” came Draco’s muffled reply as he groaned into his hands.  “This is a fucking nightmare.  What do I fucking do, Theo? Whichever way I turn I am basically fucked.  Either I continue to endure the scandal of having my wife in seclusion, or I suffer the scandal of divorcing my wife, or I have to deal with the scandal of my marriage being dragged through the mire simply to avoid the scandal of watching the press destroy Pansy for suffering from depression.”

Theo chewed on his lip thoughtfully.  “Do you know why Daphne had his card?”

Draco shook his head.  

“He treated her mother,” Theo replied, matter of factly.

Draco’s head shot up so quick Theo was sure he would have whiplash.

“I didn’t even know her mother was ill.”

“Breakdown,” Theo stated with a dismissive wave.  “Anyway, he mentioned that since the War there has been an increase in the reporting of psychological disorders and our treatment methods are somewhat archaic.”

Draco nodded, “He mentioned the same thing to me.”

“Maybe you should get your chequebook out,” Theo winked.

 

OoOoOoOoOoO

 

MALFOYS OPEN NEW WING IN ST MUNGO’S -

FUND CREATED FOR RESEARCH INTO PSYCHOLOGICAL DISORDERS

Full story page four by Lavender Brown 

 

“How is her treatment going?” Daphne asked casually as she poured the tea into the delicate china cup in front of Draco.

“Well.  She was able to attend the gala we hosted for St Mungo’s,” he replied, his fingers curling around the cup that he brought to his lips, sipping the tea.

“You really should thank my husband for his triumph of turning that scandal to your advantage,” she grinned.  “Next time, be a bit more discreet and ensure you are not followed,” she instructed with a wry smile.

“Is a box at the Quidditch World Cup not thanks enough for Theo?” Draco replied, his features taut as he checked his temper.

“You know I hate Quidditch,” Daphne pouted dramatically.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “So take Pansy shopping instead.  She should be up to travelling by then.”

 

OoOoOoO

 

His heart pounded in his chest as he searched the apartment for his wife, anxiety twisting like a knife in his chest.  Stepping out onto the balcony, he found her chair empty and was just about to retreat inside when he caught a glimpse of her out in the rose garden.  Rushing down the stairs, he crossed the solarium and threw open the patio doors, his heavy strides pounding the gravel as he caught up to her.  

Hand outstretched, Pansy brushed her fingers across the black roses, relishing in the velvety texture underneath her fingertips.  Hearing the crunch of the stones, she turned to see Draco ashen faced as he drank her in.  

“What’s wrong, my love?” She smiled at him, her face lighting up for the first time in Merlin knew how long, instantly reminding him of the photograph on the dresser.

“I...it’s just… been so long since you came outside.  I was worried,” he replied as his heartbeat slowed to a normal rate.

Pansy hummed her reply, turning her attention back to the roses, watching as loose petals broke off, falling to her feet.  Bending down to retrieve one, her smile increasing, she reached for Draco’s hand, opening it to place the petal in his palm.

His free hand brushed her pale cheek, before his fingers found their way into her hair.  Pansy closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.  

“Thank you,” she whispered, as he leaned down to kiss her.

Pausing, he frowned.  “What for?”

“I was like this fragile petal, that you hold now so gently in your hand.  Thank you for not crushing me.”

“I love you too much to do that, Pansy,” he told her sincerely, his confession falling from his lips like a litany before he could stop it.  He brought his lips to hers, kissing her soundly, uncertainty clenching his heart as his mind reeled, awaiting the rejection that he was sure would follow.

The rejection never came.  “I love you, too,” she whispered when they broke apart laying her head on his chest.

His heart swelling from her proclamation, Draco wrapped his arms around her, certain that no matter what lay ahead, he would endure whatever it took to be with her, scandal be damned.

  
  



End file.
